I wish I could sit with you Father Time, Mother Eternity. Maybe we’d drink tea from tall glasses as I did when a boy in Finland–Russian tea, the candles shining through.
Damask and silver, twilight. Together reflecting on the small, beautiful, ineluctable joy of seeing animals, their eyes.
The dictator has broken all the gramophone records but one. He plays it for his dinner guests: wolves howling. When the record is over he starts it again. Stalin as disc jockey…
Father Time, Mother Eternity, how do I shake these blues?
My friend, the poet Jim Crenner wrote: “Life is like a game of chess. Death is like two games of chess.”
Once, playing with a friend in a Greek taverna, a spider walked across the board and we both decided it was a draw.
I wonder if Stalin ever played his record backwards?